<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>you, therefore by greenantigone (concertine)</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24773173">you, therefore</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/concertine/pseuds/greenantigone'>greenantigone (concertine)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stardew Valley (Video Game), 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everyone Is Alive, Ghosts, I guess???, M/M, Mutual Pining, Weddings, background mianqing and nielan, they farm and plot against capitalism that's it that's the fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:08:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,255</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24773173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/concertine/pseuds/greenantigone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang whispers after about thirty seconds, “you’re staring.”</p>
<p>Wei Wuxian blinks. “What? No, I’m not.”</p>
<p>“You’re <em>staring</em>.” Nie Huaisang’s fan stabs him in the ribs. “At Lan Wangji. In the middle of the radish aisle.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>When Wei Wuxian's great-godmother leaves him her farm, he jumps at the chance to get away from his stifling life in the city. But the smallest towns hold the largest personalities, and Wei Wuxian soon finds that his new life is much more than just an escape.</p>
<p>(Spoiler: He falls in love.)</p>
<p>
  <strong>On hiatus as the author attempts to get her shit together. Thanks for your patience!</strong>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín &amp; Jiāng Yànlí &amp; Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Niè Huáisāng &amp; Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you, therefore</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuofthewind/gifts">shuofthewind</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>/bangs pots &amp; pans together/ it's alix's birthday!!! so this fic is for them!!! yes i only ever post fics for my friends. no i don't take constructive criticism</p>
<p>the fic title comes from reginald shepherd's <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49268/you-therefore">you, therefore</a>. very soft love poem 110/10</p>
<p>on!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’d better be coming back for the wedding,” Jiang Cheng says, one hand braced against the doorjamb. “I still can’t believe you’re moving out to some farm in the middle of nowhere.”</p>
<p>Wei Wuxian heaves his suitcase down the steps. “It’s not <em>some farm</em>,” he retorts, more flippantly than he feels. “It’s my great-godmother’s inheritance, dickhead. And of course I’ll be back for the wedding—I wouldn’t miss a chance to pull that peacock’s feathers for anything.”</p>
<p>There’s shuffling at the door. He turns at the gate, looking over his shoulder to see that Jiang Yanli has replaced Jiang Cheng, one foot over the threshold. From this distance, her features are indistinct in the hazy pre-dawn light, but Wei Wuxian can just make out the worried cast to her eyebrows.</p>
<p>“Send us your phone number when you get there,” she says, hands twisting anxiously in her long skirt. “If there’s reception, anyway.”</p>
<p>“Sure.” When Wei Wuxian walks back to hug her, she steps out to meet him, barefoot on the welcome mat. She smells like potpourri and floral shampoo, the same store-bought brand she’s been using for years. “If not, I’ll make sure to write,” he promises.</p>
<p>Jiang Cheng snorts, his frame appearing behind Jiang Yanli’s head. “Maybe it’ll improve your chicken scratch,” he says dubiously. “Get going. You’ll miss the bus.”</p>
<p>“The only thing I’ll miss is seeing the whites of your eyes,” Wei Wuxian counters. “Thanks for letting me stay over, A-jie,” he tells Jiang Yanli.</p>
<p>She nods. “I’ll let Mom and Dad know you’ve left.” Another quick hug, and Wei Wuxian is walking back to the gate. He has one hand on the latch and another on the handle of his luggage when footsteps sound behind him, too heavy to be his sister’s.</p>
<p>“Don’t get eaten by a bear.” Jiang Cheng sounds like he’s scowling. Wei Wuxian imagines he is—it’s hard to picture him wearing any other expression. He shifts his ratty backpack so that the weight sits more comfortably on his shoulders, and takes his hand off the latch to wave without turning around.</p>
<p>“I’ll do my best!” There, that’s cheerful enough. They’ll probably think he’s smiling.</p>
<p>If Jiang Cheng says anything else, it’s too soft for Wei Wuxian to hear it over the creak of the gate as he pushes it open, his suitcase clattering behind him. As soon as he’s far enough down the sidewalk that he’s out of sight, he stops and turns back to look. A breeze, cool but heavy with the promise of heat later in the day, tugs at his sleeves. This early in the morning, the sky is a pixelated purple-blue, streaked with clouds and still deep at the horizon; the moon hangs low and full, half-hidden behind a rooftop. He’d stayed the night at Jiang Yanli’s townhouse after moving out of his apartment. It’s out of sight now—that, or indistinguishable from the other ones surrounding it. </p>
<p>The moon drops another inch lower in the sky. Wei Wuxian leaves before he misses the bus.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>It's nearly sunset by the time he arrives. The bus pulls in to a stop that's nothing more than a patch of packed dirt and a faded sign that reads <em>Gusu Valley, Cloud Recesses</em>. When he steps off the bus, muscles sore from sitting for hours, it's to the sight of a serious-faced young woman around his age, wearing a bright yellow sweater and a pair of sturdy-looking black work boots. She walks up to Wei Wuxian and holds out a sun-browned hand.</p>
<p>"You must be the new farmer. I'm—”</p>
<p>“—Mianmian,” Wei Wuxian interrupts, taking her hand. The calluses on her hand press firmly against Wei Wuxian's skin when they shake.</p>
<p>The woman’s—Mianmian’s, he decides—eyebrows draw together. “I was going to say ‘the local carpenter’." </p>
<p>“Yeah, I know, but,” he points, “you look like one, your sweater’s all fuzzy. Were you waiting here for me? It's an honour." He flashes her his most charming grin, but Mianmian looks distinctly unmoved.</p>
<p>“That’s not my name.”</p>
<p>“What <em>is</em> your name, then?”</p>
<p>Mianmian crosses her arms and huffs. “As if I’d tell you <em>now</em>. You haven’t even given me yours.”</p>
<p>“Ah, sorry, it’s Wei Wuxian! And if you won’t tell me your actual name, I’ll just have to call you Mianmian, that’s the only name I’ve got for you.” He bounces on the balls of his feet. “So, what’s on the menu, Mianmian?”</p>
<p>Mianmian fixes him with an assessing gaze for a few seconds, before apparently deciding that he’s too stupid to be worth the effort. "The mayor asked me to show you to your farm when you got here. He's waiting there right now." She leads him away from the bus stop, past a small copse of maples and oaks and a rickety-looking fence with dandelions growing out of the base. Her ponytail swishes to the rhythm of her steps. "It's just around the corner. Might need a little fixing up, though, no one's lived there in ages."</p>
<p>"That's okay," Wei Wuxian quips, walking a little faster to keep up. Mianmian is shorter than he is, but walks like she never needs to look at the ground—considering the ankle support on her boots, she probably doesn’t. "I like a challenge."</p>
<p>Mianmian snorts. "Then you'll love this. Look, it's just up ahead."</p>
<p>The packed dirt path under their feet peters out and softens, dragging against the wheels of Wei Wuxian’s suitcase. He picks it up and catches sight of a small wooden cottage that looks like it's seen better days, nearly hidden amongst trees and debris. It’s elevated above the ground, sitting on a cracked deck beside a sizable bundle of firewood. One stone chimney juts from the red rooftop. </p>
<p>"That's Mayor Lan," says Mianmian, pointing to a tall, stern figure waiting in front of the farmhouse. For the first time, Wei Wuxian feels a frisson of nerves.</p>
<p>"Oh no. Is he a strict professor type? I don't do well with those."</p>
<p>Mianmian shoots him a look that clearly says <em> Who would've guessed?</em>, and keeps going. "You'll be fine," she dismisses. "He's uptight, but he <em> is </em> the mayor. That's practically his job. Just don't get on his bad side."</p>
<p>"I don't think you understand," Wei Wuxian says. "He’s an authority figure. My whole personality is probably on his bad side." They reach the farmhouse before she can reply, and then Wei Wuxian is too preoccupied with not making a fool of himself to crack any more jokes.</p>
<p>The mayor is a tall man with a severe, scholarly face marred by the presence of a horrible little goatee that makes Wei Wuxian's palms itch with the urge to shave it. His long hair, streaked liberally with grey, is half tied up. A white ribbon runs across his forehead like a diadem.</p>
<p>"Lan Qiren," he says in lieu of greeting. "I'm the mayor of Cloud Recesses." Lan Qiren’s voice sounds like a college professor’s from the old days—back when math was <em> arithmetic </em> and rules weren’t meant to be bent <em>or</em> broken.</p>
<p>Wei Wuxian, who has never met a rule he didn’t want to flex a little, clears his throat and shakes his hand, glad his own isn't sweaty. "Wei Wuxian. It's a pleasure, uh. Sir."</p>
<p>Lan Qiren doesn't smile, but the lines on his face don't get any deeper, either, so it's not all bad. His eyes sweep over Wei Wuxian, from the choppy haircut to the scuffed tops of his running shoes. Wei Wuxian tries to look like a wholesome youth under the scrutiny, hoping the hoodie he’s wearing will hide his back tattoo. Somehow, he doesn’t think Lan Qiren would appreciate the artistic depth of the lotuses spanning his shoulder blades. </p>
<p>"This is your farmhouse," Lan Qiren says at last, indicating the little cottage behind them. "From my understanding it isn't much, but it's liveable. You’ll be responsible for any repairs it needs."</p>
<p>"That's all right," Wei Wuxian reassures him. "I've lived in worse."</p>
<p>Neither Lan Qiren nor Mianmian seem to know what to make of that, and the conversation falls flat. After pointing out the shipping bin by the path and handing him a sack of parsnip seeds and tools, the mayor makes to leave. "I assume you know how to use those?" Lan Qiren asks gruffly.</p>
<p>To tell the truth, Wei Wuxian only has a vague idea from what he's read on the internet, but he's not about to let that on. "I'll be fine," he says assuredly. "I did loads of field work when I was in university."</p>
<p>At the mention of university, Lan Qiren's demeanour softens somewhat. "In that case, you should make a call at the museum tomorrow," he says. "My nephew is the curator and librarian there. He will be pleased to meet you."</p>
<p>Wei Wuxian refrains from mentioning the countless librarians he’s annoyed by virtue of his inability to keep quiet. Instead, he nods politely as he walks Lan Qiren out, only half-listening to him talk about his nephew and various other members of the town.</p>
<p>Mianmian sticks around for a bit longer. "Use the hoe to plant the seeds," she calls from the back exit of the farm. "I live around the back path, near the mountain. Come if you need anything, I guess. I sell furniture and construction materials."</p>
<p>"Got it!" Wei Wuxian waves the hoe at her to prove he knows what he's talking about. </p>
<p>After Mianmian leaves, Wei Wuxian inspects his farm, hands on his hips. Shadows stretch and merge in the fading light, making it hard to make out individual figures. It’s cooler here than in the city—a breeze with a thread of cold snaps up, stirring the pollen in the air. It's not bright enough out to plant the parsnips, he decides. He’ll have to do that in the morning.</p>
<p>Wei Wuxian dusts himself off, and heads inside his new home.</p>
<p>The inside of his farmhouse is dark and still. Wei Wuxian blinks a few times, eyes adjusting to the dimness. Bare-bones furniture decorates the small room: an old-fashioned cuboid television on a low dresser; a table and chair, both made of oak; a single bed in the corner. He steps across the room to the table, wooden floor creaking under his feet. Someone has left an ivory bowl on the table—a new pack of matchsticks are inside it, probably meant to help start a fire.</p>
<p>The interior of the brick fireplace is empty and covered in soot. It stains the pads of his fingers black, but the firewood outside the house is dry, covered by a tin roof. It doesn’t take him long to start the fire, though he squints a little at the sudden brightness.</p>
<p>With a source of light in the room, Wei Wuxian can make out more details. He lists them in his mind to describe to Jiang Yanli: striped yellow wallpaper, a tiny painting of a tree, a house plant, a faded patterned carpet next to the bed. Mud tracks lie on the floor from the wheels of his suitcase.</p>
<p>“Well,” Wei Wuxian says aloud, sitting on the floor, “At least I got one thing right when I was talking to old man Lan. This <em>really</em> isn’t the worst place I’ve ever lived.”</p>
<p>The only things he bothers to unpack from his luggage are his pajamas and alarm clock—there’s nowhere to put what he brought, except for the single drawer in the dresser below the TV. When he opens the drawer, he finds a pair of new-looking overalls and boots similar to Mianmian’s, along with a yellowed piece of paper signed  <em>BS SR</em> , blank except for the words <em>Good luck</em>. </p>
<p>Wei Wuxian burns the note, sparing a moment’s thought for his great-godmother, born with the misfortune of having initials that read <em> bullshit senior </em>. The heavy denim overalls are slightly too short for him when he tries them on, but the boots make up for it by covering his ankles. He folds the overalls over the end of his bed frame and puts the boots by the door. The bed creaks when he flops down on it, letting his limbs sprawl off the mattress.</p>
<p><em>I’m so tired I could fall asleep like this</em>, he thinks drowsily. The room is comfortably warm now, the only sound coming from the wood crackling in the fireplace. It’s a silence he never experienced in the city, where <em> something </em> was always making noise. </p>
<p><em>Like you’re not the loudest thing in your environment anyway</em>, Jiang Cheng’s voice snips at him from his mind. Wei Wuxian turns over, stomach growling. </p>
<p>
  <em>A-Xian, you should eat something. And remember to change before sleeping!</em>
</p>
<p>Suddenly, the warm glow of the fire becomes hazy. Wei Wuxian sits up abruptly, blinking hard.</p>
<p>“Shit,” he says, scrubbing at his eyes before flopping down again. His stomach rumbles gently.</p>
<p>He spends a long time lying there and staring up at the ceiling before mustering up the energy to move. The corned beef sandwich Jiang Yanli had packed for him is still delicious, albeit a little soggy. Wei Wuxian chews it as he considers what to write, pen tapping against the paper he had brought. </p>
<p><em>Hi, A-jie</em>, he eventually begins. <em>And hi to Jiang Cheng as well, who’s probably reading this over your shoulder while pretending not to care. It’s me, A-Xian. Although I guess I’m the only person who’d be writing letters to you, unless Jin Zixuan has discovered some well of romanticism deep within him. </em>Very  <em>deep.</em></p>
<p>It’s easier to write once he’s started. He finishes the letter at about the same time he finishes the sandwich, and puts it in the mailbox out front. Once he’s changed into pajamas and extinguished the fire, he climbs back into bed, actually drawing the blanket over him this time. The plain sheets are cool, but scentless and soft, and the darkness envelops him completely.</p>
<p>
  <em>Tomorrow I should clean the chimney. Plant the parsnips. Go around town and meet some people. Ask someone friendly about the postal service…</em>
</p>
<p><em>Go to sleep,</em> Jiang Yanli’s voice chides in his mind. <em>It’s late</em>.</p>
<p>Wei Wuxian falls asleep wondering how long parsnips take to grow.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>He wakes to the loud blare of his alarm and birds chirping. Groaning, Wei Wuxian slaps a hand over his alarm clock (six in the morning, really?) to silence it and sits up, opening his eyes into slits. For a moment, he still expects to see his bedroom in his old apartment, but the fireplace swims into view instead. Sunlight filters in through the window, still weak and watery with the early morning. </p>
<p>Wei Wuxian almost—<em>almost</em>—falls back asleep, but a well-placed crow cawing from outside startles him into wakefulness. He clambers out of bed and changes into the overalls and boots he found last night, haphazardly tugging on a hoodie to combat the chill seeping through the walls. It takes him a solid five minutes just to lace up the steel-toed boots, tugging hard at each pair of eyelets until the suede-and-leather upper lies flat against his ankles. The nylon laces chafe at his fingers, stiff with newness; when he takes a few experimental steps, his feet feel many times heavier than he’s accustomed to. </p>
<p>Wei Wuxian steps out the front door without looking, and promptly collides with someone standing just outside.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” he says automatically, taking a step back into the doorframe. The figure in front of him registers as distinctly unfamiliar. “Uh.”</p>
<p>The person whose skull nearly crashed into his teeth three seconds ago gives Wei Wuxian a wide, close-lipped smile. “No, no, it’s my bad,” the stranger apologizes, dimpling. “I should’ve knocked. You aren’t hurt, are you?”</p>
<p>“No, I’m fine.” Stranger’s eyelashes are very long. His hair is parted perfectly. Wei Wuxian, still rocking a bedhead and halfway-zipped hoodie, feels a little bit like he’s talking to a flight attendant. “Er, are you one of the townsfolk? I’m Wei Wuxian, the new farmer.”</p>
<p>Stranger’s eyes widen—is he wearing mascara? Wei Wuxian needs to know what product he uses, stat. “Oh, how rude of me not to introduce myself,” he says. “My name is Meng Yao. I own and run our local general store.”</p>
<p>Wei Wuxian shakes his hand, wondering how many times he’ll have to repeat this action in the next few days. “I’ll stop by sometime and see what you’ve got,” he replies, still too sleepy to muster up any tact for small talk. The morning mist is already clearing, and Wei Wuxian wants to get his parsnip seeds in the ground.</p>
<p>Meng Yao flushes,but recovers quickly. “I’d be honoured if you would. We have a great selection of seasonal seeds! Only the best quality, of course, and it’s all grown locally.”</p>
<p>“Sounds good,” Wei Wuxian says, and means it this time—he’s been wondering where he should buy more seeds. “I’ll definitely make a visit.”</p>
<p>“Wonderful!” Meng Yao actually claps his hands. His dimples deepen into little ovals. “Well, young master Wei, I won’t take up any more of your time. My store is just north of the town square if you have trouble finding it.”</p>
<p>After shaking Meng Yao’s hand one more time, Wei Wuxian watches him hurry off across the farm. “Weird,” he pronounces to himself. The Jiang Cheng in his head says <em> just like you </em> in a voice that eerily resembles his mother’s, and Wei Wuxian shakes him off. “But fine, I guess.” </p>
<p>In the daylight, his farm looks much larger than it did last night. He roots around for a while and is delighted to discover an outhouse behind the cabin with a real, functioning bathroom. Baoshan Sanren, Wei Wuxian reflects as he splashes his face with ice-cold water (the sink only has one tap), may have lived in a one-room house without a kitchen, but at least she had her priorities straight when it came to the plumbing. Further investigation reveals a derelict building that looks to have once been a greenhouse of some sort, as well as an empty cave behind it, though the majority of the land is still scattered with assorted trees and weeds.</p>
<p>By the time Wei Wuxian is done planting and watering the parsnips, the last of the mist has cleared away and his hoodie has long since been thrown over the branch of a nearby tree. The sun shines down on his forehead as he straightens up, rubbing his back and vowing to somehow obtain a plough. A horse, he reflects, wouldn’t go amiss either.</p>
<p>He leaves his tools leaning against the firewood pile. Besides the hoe, the mayor had also given him a shallow-bladed axe for chopping trees, a pickaxe (who knows what that’s for), and a dented watering can that looks like it’s seen better days. He dismisses the brush still cluttering the farm as a problem for later—it would take him the rest of the morning to fell any of the thick-trunked trees, especially without a handsaw—and gets ready to head into town.</p>
<p><em>Well</em> , he thinks ruefully, <em> let’s </em> find <em> the town first </em>. No one, not even Meng Yao, had mentioned where exactly it was.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>The town turns out to be just on the other side of the bus stop, about ten minutes out from his farm. It’s dusty and quaint in the way small towns are, with old-fashioned lamp-posts and houses where the wood grain is still visible despite the brightly coloured paint on top. Spring is prevalent: He sees richly scented flowering trees, wooden fences bowing under boughs of lilacs, and newly green grass poking out from between cracks in the cobblestones. Wei Wuxian meets a number of people walking in, including Mianmian, whom he finds checking out a board labelled HELP WANTED on the front wall of a large two-storey building. </p>
<p>“Hey,” she greets, pinning something onto the board. Wei Wuxian catches sight of FIFTY STONES—NO GEODES!! before she turns to face him, obscuring his view. “Looking for something?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I was meaning to visit the general store.” Wei Wuxian decides not to mention that its owner had shown up at his front door at the crack of dawn: He doesn’t know if gossip travels fast in a town this small, but he’s not about to find out.</p>
<p>Mianmian smirks in a superior way, and jerks her chin up. “You’re staring right at it.” Wei Wuxian follows her gaze; sure enough, YAO’S is written above them, in the same font as the HELP WANTED but several times larger. “Good choice, too,” she adds. “Better than that fluorescent Jin monstrosity, at any rate.”</p>
<p>Wei Wuxian snaps his head back down to look at her so quickly, he almost gets whiplash. Horror percolates through his insides. “<em>What</em>?! Did you say ‘Jin’?”</p>
<p>“Yep,” says Mianmian, popping the <em>p</em> . “Jin Corp.” She pronounces it <em>coaaarp</em> like <em>soar</em>, long and slow, emphasized with a shudder of disgust. “Wouldn’t have thought they’d be all the way out here, huh?”</p>
<p>“No,” he responds, still feeling like he has indigestion. “Fuck, who runs it here? Don’t tell me it’s one of their shitbag cousins.”</p>
<p>Mianmian’s eyebrows shoot up so high, they stretch the skin of her eyelids. “You sound like you’re familiar with the Jins.” It’s phrased like an interrogation, and Wei Wuxian winces, scuffing the ground with the steel-toed tip of his boot.</p>
<p>“Yeah, my older sister—well, adoptive, but it doesn’t really matter—she’s engaged to the Jin heir. Jin Zixuan. He’s a privileged peacock, but it’s the cousins that are really the scum of the earth.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Zixuan?” Mianmian says thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’ve met him—I worked part-time at the Lanling branch in college,” she clarifies in response to Wei Wuxian’s questioning look. “He’s alright. I never go to the store here in Gusu so I’m not familiar with who runs it, though.”</p>
<p>“Do you know their name, at least?” Wei Wuxian presses. “So I know whether or not I have to avoid that area like the plague.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” replies Mianmian. “I heard from Meng Yao it’s someone called Jin Zixun.”</p>
<p>“<em>Fuck</em>!” He swears again. The ice in his intestines turns to lava in a millisecond. “Fuck, Christ on a fucking bonfire, what the <em> fuck </em> is he doing here?”</p>
<p>“I take it he’s one of the scum?” Mianmian asks dryly.</p>
<p>“More like a bobble-headed, weaselly, bigoted fucknozzle with kelp for brains and an utter lack of capacity to say or produce anything useful to anybody,” Wei Wuxian spits vehemently. “I broke his arm once and I wish I could break it again.”</p>
<p>Mianmian whistles, low. “So there’s nothing appreciable about his existence.” She shrugs. “Good to know. If you want to avoid him, the store is due east of here across the river, just north of the blacksmith’s.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”</p>
<p>Still shuddering with the knowledge that <em>Jin Zixun</em>, of all people, is here, Wei Wuxian pushes open the door of the general store. A tinkling bell rings to announce his arrival, but there’s only a few people there at—he glances at a clock on the wall—just past ten o’clock on a Monday morning. The store is one large room, more deep than wide, with open-topped crates and barrels lining the walls. Inside, there are rows of shelves stocked with items on a floor of well-scrubbed wood. A fan whirs overhead, dispersing the air.</p>
<p>A lady with a wooden walking stick and white hair in a bun notices him lingering near the door, and totters forward surprisingly quickly despite her age.</p>
<p>“Hello, young man,” she says, peering up at him. Her smile creases her face even further, sinking into familiar lines. “You must be the new farmer. I’m Madam Wen—<em>Granny</em> to you.”</p>
<p>Wei Wuxian can’t help it—he chuckles. “That’s me! My name is Wei Wuxian. Do you need help with your groceries, Granny?”</p>
<p>“Oh, you <em>are</em> sweet.” Granny Wen waves him off. “Don’t worry about me, I may be seventy-four but I can still carry a few potatoes!” She points kitty-corner at the door. “I live further into town with my grandson, near the river. You’ll be coming over for dinner sometime, he’s been asking me about you every five minutes ever since he heard someone new would be moving in.” </p>
<p>Right on cue, Wei Wuxian’s stomach issues an embarrassing noise. He’d only had one of the granola bars in his suitcase this morning, and he suddenly realises how hungry he is. Granny fixes him with a disapproving look, and he shrinks from her gaze.</p>
<p>“Did you eat, young man? You must know how to cook, at your age.”</p>
<p>“I can cook!” Wei Wuxian says hastily. “Er, I just don’t have a kitchen yet, the farmhouse is only one room.”</p>
<p>Granny’s eyebrows do an impressive imitation of Mianmian’s from earlier, and she taps his foot with her cane. “Wait,” she orders, and begins to rifle around in her bag, griping under her breath. Wei Wuxian catches a thread of <em>no common sense, no, no life skills either, I suppose she just asked her girlfriend to conjure up food for her</em> before she retrieves a metal tin and a long baguette wrapped in paper.</p>
<p>“Those are my homemade cookies,” she indicates the tin as she hands it to Wei Wuxian along with the baguette. “No—no,” she warns, holding up a finger. “I’m old, don’t argue with me. You’ll give the tin back when you come over for dinner, it’s all settled then. If you really want to repay me, you can babysit A-Yuan—that’s my grandson—one of these days.”</p>
<p>“It’d be my pleasure,” Wei Wuxian says honestly. “I love kids. Thanks, Granny.”</p>
<p>The old woman smiles approvingly at him again, and exits the shop. Wei Wuxian turns back to the shelves; the aisles and crates are all unmarked. Presumably the townsfolk know where everything is. He looks around for someone to ask, but the others in the shop seem to have disappeared up ahead, near the check-out counter. </p>
<p>“Nothing for it,” he mutters, and, choosing a shelf stocked with canned goods at the back of the shop to start, he starts to search one-by-one.</p>
<p>He’s about a third of the way up, weaving through the aisles—so far he’s caught sight of fruit tree seeds (those cost an arm and a leg), cooking supplies (he doesn’t even have a kitchen), and grass starters (he thinks of the trees all over his farm, and shakes his head)—before a familiar voice calls: “Wei Wuxian!”</p>
<p>He sticks his head out of the aisle to find Meng Yao bustling towards him from the front counter.</p>
<p>“Ah, I’m sorry again, young master. I thought you might have some difficulty finding everything on your first time here, so I set aside some of my spring seeds by the counter.” Two men trail Meng Yao towards Wei Wuxian; one short and slight, the other tall and dressed in blue.</p>
<p>“My friends arrived and I got distracted talking to them, so I failed to notice your arrival. i hope you didn’t waste much time looking.” Meng Yao looks truly apologetic. </p>
<p>“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” soothes Wei Wuxian. “I was planning to come up to the counter to ask you regardless.” Which...<em>true</em> in that he would’ve done it eventually, but Meng Yao seems so sorry Wei Wuxian can’t help but feel bad for him. </p>
<p>“Well! Thank you for your understanding.” Meng Yao gestures towards the other two men, now standing right behind him. “These are my good friends and loyal customers, Lan Xichen—” the tall one smiles and shakes Wei Wuxian’s hand, “—and Nie Huaisang.” </p>
<p>Lan Xichen, warm and classically handsome, reminds Wei Wuxian of the old-school actors Madam Yu used to watch on television. Nie Huaisang, to his left, chirps an exuberant greeting at Wei Wuxian, one hand fluttering the delicately painted fan he holds in front of his face.</p>
<p>“Just call me Huaisang!” he insists. “I’ll give you a primer once you’re done here, I know all the news.”</p>
<p>Wei Wuxian smiles back. “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”</p>
<p>He picks out some seeds from the front counter—beans, potatoes, tulips, and cauliflower—as well as some cheap fertilizer, and leaves the general store with Nie Huaisang tagging along. As soon as they exit the store, Nie Huaisang turns to him with a gleam in his eyes, and Wei Wuxian immediately understands that yes, this<em> is</em> the kind of small town where gossip travels quickly.</p>
<p>“So, Wei-xiong! How many people have you met besides me?”</p>
<p>“Uh…” Wei Wuxian counts off his fingers. “I met Mianmian—sorry, the carpenter—yesterday, as well as Mayor Lan, obviously Lan Xichen and Meng Yao back there, Granny Wen—”</p>
<p>“Ooh, yeah, I love her cookies,” Nie Huaisang interjects appreciatively. “It’s worth getting on her good side just to eat them.”</p>
<p>“—and I walked into a few people coming into town today,” he finishes slowly, scrambling to recall their names. “I think one of them was called Mo Xuanyu?”</p>
<p>“Oh, you met Xuanyu?” Nie Huaisang seems surprised. “And he wasn’t going to the general store?”</p>
<p>“No, I think he said he was headed for the mountains.” Nie Huaisang makes a curious noise at this, prompting Wei Wuxian to nudge him curiously. “Why, what’s up?”</p>
<p>“Xuanyu lives down at the beach, like me. He’s a bit of a recluse, really,” explains Nie Huaisang. “Spends all his time fishing, doesn’t talk much. He only ever comes up to help out Meng Yao, or go to the saloon in the evenings.” He shrugs. “Maybe he got tired of fishing in the ocean and wanted to try the mountain lake or something. You never really know, with him.”</p>
<p>“You live on the beach, then?”</p>
<p>“Mhm,” says Nie Huaisang. “You’re welcome to come over and visit if you’re down there. My older brother’s the blacksmith, he lives across the river with his—blacksmith stuff, who knows what it’s called.” He shrugs again. “It’s the family trade, but one blacksmith is enough in this town, and I never wanted anything to do with it, anyway. So I just do his accounting.”</p>
<p>He leads Wei Wuxian to an unassuming building to the left of the general store. Wei Wuxian hadn’t noticed it walking in; it shares a wall with Yao’s, but is much smaller.</p>
<p>“This is the doctor’s for if you get sick,” Nie Huaisang explains, pointing to the large red cross above the door. “I’d introduce you, but Wen Qing-jie would rip my head off if I interrupted her working.”</p>
<p>“Wen?” Wei Wuxian asks as they move away from the clinic to sit down on a bench in the square. “Is she related to Granny?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, A-Yuan—you know A-Yuan?—he’s, like, her first cousin once removed or something, I don’t know how it works the other way around. Gusu is really just a bunch of old families that have been here since forever, plus some new blood once in a while,” he explains. “The Lans are the biggest, but the Wens and my family, the Nies, have been here for a long time too.”</p>
<p>“Huh.” Wei Wuxian squints up at the sky, trying to keep it all straight. “So there’s you and your brother for the Nies; Granny, A-Yuan, and Wen Qing for the Wens…”</p>
<p>“Wen Qing has a younger brother, Wen Ning,” Nie Huaisang interjects. “He’s pretty shy, so you won’t see much of him, but he works at the clinic sometimes. Oh, and there’s also Uncle Wen, he runs the saloon.”</p>
<p>“Right. So those five for the Wens, and the Lans have Mayor Lan and Lan Xichen, he’s his nephew.” Wei Wuxian stops and frowns. “Is that all for them? I thought you said the Lans were the biggest family.”</p>
<p>“<em>Big</em> as in <em>powerful</em>,” Nie Huaisang corrects. “Quality over quantity! But you’re right: Lan Xichen’s got a younger brother too, his name’s Lan Wangji. They look alike but their personalities are different, so you’ll recognize him if you ever see him.”</p>
<p>“Right,” Wei Wuxian says again. In his head, he pictures Lan Xichen wearing all black with an eyebrow piercing. The effect honestly isn’t bad. “Got it. Thanks, Huaisang.”</p>
<p>Nie Huaisang smiles over his fan. “Hey, no problem. Shit, wait, almost forgot—” he rummages around in his pockets for a bit, and hands Wei Wuxian a crumpled map. “Here’s a map of the valley. It’s so small you probably won’t need it after the first week or two, but.”</p>
<p>Just then, a large, broad-shouldered man appears at the corner of the square, making Nie Huaisang squeak, “<em>Fuck</em>, I forgot about Da-ge!”.</p>
<p>“<em>Sorry Wei-xiong gotta go gonna be late talk later I’ll visit your farm</em>!” Nie Huaisang shouts all in a rush, and flies over to his brother before Wei Wuxian can even lift his hand to wave.</p>
<p>“Cool,” Wei Wuxian says to nobody in particular, and lugs his seeds back to the farm to plant.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>He spends the next week exploring the town and its surroundings. Mo Xuanyu gives him a rod, which Wei Wuxian dangles in various bodies of water with great enthusiasm. (He’s pretty sure he isn’t casting the line properly, but he caught a few herring so he doesn’t really care.) He meets some more villagers, including Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan, who induct him into their Adventurers’ Guild when he successfully ventures into the mines (<em>that’s</em> what the pickaxe is for!).</p>
<p>Wei Wuxian <em>really</em> loves spelunking in the mines.</p>
<p>The parsnips come out of the ground quickly, and he sells them for a small but tidy profit, picturing with glee the mayor trudging down to his farm to lug them out to town. Still kitchen-less, he gets by by eating whatever he can find, including fish and forageables that he skewers and roasts over his fireplace. The only exception is the first Saturday, when he has dinner with Granny and A-Yuan. Wei Wuxian gets along so well with A-Yuan that he hatches a plan to convince Granny to make him the child’s godfather.</p>
<p>“Lan Wangji might not like that,” says Nie Huaisang when Wei Wuxian brings it up. "He spends a lot of time with the kid." They’re sitting on Wei Wuxian’s carpet, which he moved from the door to in front of the fire, and eating pizza that Nie Huaisang bought from the saloon.</p>
<p>(Despite how much time they’ve spent together since Wei Wuxian came here, not once has Nie Huaisang asked him why, exactly, he chose to move away and become a farmer. It was just about the first thing the other townsfolk asked, once they got past introductions. Wei Wuxian takes another bite of pizza and thinks that his new friend has a lot more tact than he lets on.)</p>
<p>A log pops noisily in the fire, and Wei Wuxian comes back to his senses. “Who? Oh, right, Lan Xichen’s brother.”</p>
<p>“You haven’t met him yet?” Nie Huaisang looks at him a little incredulously. “You’ve been here for a whole week, Wei-xiong. I thought you met everyone already!”</p>
<p>“I’ve been busy!” Wei Wuxian defends himself. “Farming isn’t easy, you know! I’ll run into him soon for sure.”</p>
<p>He <em>means</em> to try to find Lan Wangji, he really does, but he spends all of next morning installing a trellis for his green beans, and then he has to figure out how to build a scarecrow to keep the <em>fucking</em> crows off of his <em>fucking crops</em>, and then he nearly dies getting swarmed by bats in the mines...</p>
<p>In the end, it’s only at the end of his second week that he finally meets the mysterious Lan Wangji.</p>
<p>Wei Wuxian is with Huaisang in the general store, buying salt—he’s discovered that while roasted fish may smell good, they certainly don’t taste too good, especially if unseasoned—when the most beautiful man he’s ever seen appears at the end of the shelves.</p>
<p>Wei Wuxian is a simple man. He is also very, <em>very</em> gay. And the vision calmly picking out rice twenty feet away from him is much too, well, <em>everything</em> for him to look away.</p>
<p>“Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang whispers after about thirty seconds, “you’re staring.”</p>
<p>Wei Wuxian blinks. “What? No, I’m not.” His eyes trace the prim collared shirt the man is wearing. Would his collarbone be visible, if Wei Wuxian opened that securely fastened top button? </p>
<p>His fingers itch.</p>
<p>“You’re <em>staring</em>.” Nie Huaisang’s fan stabs him in the ribs. “At Lan Wangji. In the middle of the radish aisle.”</p>
<p>“You’re kidding,” exclaims Wei Wuxian. That earns him a glare from Nie Huaisang, so he lowers his voice. “<em>That’s</em> Lan Wangji? Lan Xichen’s younger brother?”</p>
<p>“What’s wrong? They look alike, everyone says so.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, if you stuck Lan Xichen into a glacier and kept him there until he fossilized.” <em>And turned hot</em>, Wei Wuxian doesn’t add. Nie Huaisang looks at him like he knows exactly what he’s thinking anyway.</p>
<p>“Wei-xiong, this is the Cloud Recesses. There are some unwritten rules, you know?”</p>
<p>“Uh-huh,” Wei Wuxian says. He forgets to keep his voice down, too caught up in the dreaminess that is Lan Wangji, stone-cold stud. “Be gay, do crimes.”</p>
<p>“No! Not that! I meant—” Down the aisle, Lan Wangji’s ears flush bright red, and he abruptly walks away.</p>
<p>“—<em>Don’t</em> mess with Lan Wangji,” Nie Huaisang hisses. His fan presses into Wei Wuxian’s stomach, keeping him from moving to follow. “He’ll eat you alive.”</p>
<p>Wei Wuxian’s brain is not in the room, and he’s fine with that. “Mmm,” he sighs dreamily. “Kinky.”</p>
<p>Behind him, Nie Huaisang chokes on air.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>in case it was unclear: wwx comes up with the nickname for mianmian bc the characters in chinese, 绵绵, mean "cottony" or "soft" like the sweater mianmian was wearing (think sheep - 绵羊 is actually a word for sheep, and mianmian's actual name, 罗青羊, has the character for "sheep" in it too).</p>
<p>updates will happen whenever uni stops sucking out my soul uwu</p>
<p>come yell at me on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/greenantigones">@greenantigones</a>!!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>